


Curses, Foiled Again!

by bellatemple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-01
Updated: 2008-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys find themselves in a fishy situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curses, Foiled Again!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by reading a really bad h/c SPN fic involving deathtraps.

Sam did his best to resist the urge to look up and try to figure out how much time they had left. All it had gotten him so far was a face full of caviar.

 _Cheap_ caviar. Cheap, slimy, smelly caviar.

Some days, he figured, it just wasn't worth getting up in the morning.

He bit back a groan. The caviar had reached about his chest, by now. Of course, when he'd woken up a few minutes ago, it'd already been up to his waist. He could feel Dean squirming around at his back.

"Relax, Sammy." Dean tilted his head back so it rested against Sam's shoulder.

"Relax." Sam said back, his voice dry. "We're tied up, stuck in a giant hour glass, and about to drown in _caviar_. Yeah. Perfectly relaxing."

"Wrong."

"Wrong?" Sam bit back a short laugh and tugged against the ropes with his arms, smiling a little bitterly when the action got a short squeak out of his brother. "About the tied up part, or the hour glass part?"

"The caviar part. We're not going to drown."

The caviar was just making its way up to the bottom of Sam's pectorals, and he felt his nipples tighten in response to the cold. "Right. You counting on us dying of hypothermia, first?"

He felt Dean shake his head. "Sam, we're tied up _together._ And you're taller than me. You know what that means."

"Yeah," Sam said morosely. "You'll drown, first."

Dean huffed, and Sam felt the ropes tighten again as his brother squirmed. "For the last time, Mr. Glass-half-empty, we're not going to drown."

"Actually, I think the glass is probably more than half-full, at this point."

Dean kept squirming. "Dude. Look to your freaking left, okay?"

Sam looked. "What?"

"Are you looking?"

"I'm looking, Dean, what are you --" He felt Dean turn his head one way, then the other.

"To your left, dude, _left._ "

"This _is_ my left, Dean."

"My left, then!"

Sam turned his head. And blinked. Dean's fingertips were just sticking out of the surface of the caviar. The wiggled at him.

"Dude, how the --"

The fingers disappeared as Dean talked, and Sam felt the ropes tighten and then start to fall loose from his biceps. "The ropes are around your elbows, right?"

"Uh, yeah,"

"And you're taller'n me."

"So?"

"So, that means your elbows are higher than mine, Joe College. The ropes are only around my upper arms." And then the ropes loosened again, beginning to droop slowly through the caviar, and he felt Dean's back pull away from his own. Sam turned, shaking off the rest of the ropes and lifting his arms up out of the caviar.

He was _never_ getting this smell out of his jacket.

Dean grinned at him, the caviar slopping down thickly over his head and now starting to cover his shoulders. "See?"

Sam stared back. "That's great, Dean. Except for the part where we're _still trapped in the giant hour glass._ "

Dean's expression fell as he turned to look at the glass that surrounded them. "Hey, I can't think of everything."

"You're the one who got us into this in the first place!"

"Hey, I never wanted in on this case to begin with!"

"You just had to go and piss off the spirit of the '60s pop-art camp television fan, didn't you. I didn't even know you knew that many bad puns!"

"'Dean,' you said, 'people are being killed in ridiculous Greg Grunderberg machines,' you said. 'We should go stop it,' you said."

" _Rube Goldberg!_ " Sam practically growled, advancing on his brother as best he could through the caviar. "Greg Grunderberg was the guy from _Felicity_!"

"Dude." Dean smirked. "You watched _Felicity_?"

Sam was about ready to wipe that knowing smirk right off his brother's face when he noticed that Dean was having to tilt his head back to keep it above the surface of the caviar. He turned away as huffily as he could -- which wasn't very, you think moving through regular water was slow going, you should try trying to walk through neck deep _caviar_ \-- and scanned the hour glass, looking for weaknesses. "We have to get out of here."

Dean spat out a mouthful of caviar with a disgusted look on his face. "Wow, Sammy. You're a genius."

"Rush the walls."

"What?"

"Rush the walls. Maybe we can tip this thing over and kick out the bottom."

Dean's head bobbed up, his hand pressing against the curve of the glass above his head, and Sam realized he was probably standing on his toes, by now. Sam himself was having to tilt his head back. They _really_ had to get out of here. " _You_ rush the --" Dean's mouth went under and a moment later he bobbed up again, spitting caviar as he went. "-- walls, Gigantor!" His hand came away from the glass, leaving a smear of purplish slime behind, and floudered in the dripping mess of fish eggs coming down from above. Sam gritted his teeth and shoved forward with all his strength, smacking into Dean's body under the caviar and pushing them both hard into the glass wall. Dean grunted and the hourglass rocked, but didn't tip. Sam took a deep breath, let his head go under the caviar, and slammed forward again.

The hourglass tipped, landed on the stone floor with a resounding *clonk!*, and started to roll.

That . . . was so not the plan.

Sam felt Dean's body slam into his as they tumbled about in the sloshing caviar like socks in a front-loading washing machine until the hourglass finally came to a hard stop, smashing up against the wall. Caviar slooshed away, spreading out across the floor through the newly formed opening and Sam started kicking the glass away, grabbing onto what he hoped was Dean's wrist and pulling them both out of the cursed deathtrap.

They flopped onto the ground amidst the broken glass and cold roe, coughing and gagging and shivering for several moments before they finally had the energy to push themselves to their feet.

"Dude," Dean groaned, wiping at his slimy face with even slimier fingers. "I'm never eating fish again."

"You don't eat fish now."

"I do if it's deep fried." Dean held his arms out and shook his hands furiously, sending clumps of caviar flying. "I thought Greg Grunderberg was that guy from _Heroes_. You know, the one with the mind-reading?"

Sam shrugged. "He's probably in that, too."

"Man, that character's a total tool. Pretty decent in _Alias_ , though."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. Can we start looking for a way out of this mousetrap, now?"

"If it were a mousetrap, there'd a boot on a pole that kicks a bucket over." Dean grinned. His teeth were purple. "Man, I loved that game."

"You've never played Mousetrap in your life, Dean." Sam started feeling along the walls, looking for the hidden door they'd come through before they got knocked out and put in the hourglass.

"Sure I did. We played it all the time, remember?"

"No, you put the mousetrap together and set it off over and over again. We never actually played the game."

Dean blinked. "That wasn't the game?"

Sam sighed. "Can we just get out of here and get rid of the Joker ghost?"

"Egghead."

"Look, just because I went to college --"

"No, you doofus. Egghead was the one who tried to drown Batgirl in caviar. Not the Joker."

Sam turned from his perusal of the wall to stare at his brother. "It terrifies me that you know that."

"Dude, he was played by Vincent Price. That guy was awesome. Plus, Batgirl was totally hot."

"Whatever." Sam thumped the wall and was rewarded with a hollow *thunk*. "Found the door. Just have to get it open." Sam started running his fingers over the wall, looking for a telling crack or anything that might give away the latching mechanism. Dean wandered off. "Dude, could you _focus_ here?"

Dean had moved to the center of the room and was turning in a slow circle. "I'm totally focused, bitch."

"On the _door?_ "

Dean cocked his head and glared at Sam. "This thing thinks it's an evil camp genius, dude. I'm looking for the giant lever that says 'pull to open' on it." He grinned suddenly and started towards the far corner of the room. "Ha!"

Sure enough, he'd found a lever. It was shaped like a trout. Sam groaned. "I hate this spirit."

"Just be glad it's an idiot, Sam." Dean grabbed onto the snout of the trout and gave it a firm tug. The wall Sam was standing by swung open with a groan. "Now lets get the hell out of here, grab our bags, and salt and burn this bastard."

Sam was way ahead of him, already halfway down the checkered tile corridor. "Can we shower, first? I smell like a fish market."

Dean laughed, jogging to catch up. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure I've got fish eggs in my sinuses."

They made their way out of the spirit's demented fish warehouse without harrassment. As they reached the Impala, Dean paused, still grinning that bizarre, purple grin. Sam almost didn't want to ask.

"What?"

"Nothing."

" _What?_ "

"I was just thinking. It'd be seriously cool if we punched this dude and got those sound effects. Pow! Zwap!"

Sam rolled his eyes and opened the passenger side door. "No, Dean."

"Ah, you're just jealous. All you'd get would be the weak-ass 'biff' and 'sock' sound effects."

"I should have left you in the hour glass."

"I love you, too, Sammy."

The End


End file.
